Apex Predators
by Cheshire
Summary: Puberty means all sorts of changes for a boy-even more, Harry discovers, when being a Parselmouth means more than just having a dark talent. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: Unbeta'd, not very edited, will probably be rewritten if I do manage to finish the whole thing (and being posted now to encourage myself to do that).

§ _words_ §- section symbols and italics signifies spoke Parseltongue  
Ϩ _words_ \- hori and italics signifies Parselscript

I'm very much into mythology and fanon around Parseltongue and have had some ideas brewing in my head about it for years, though I never actually wrote anything off of it for fear of the fic coming out as ridiculous. However, as the years go by, I realize I care less about whether a fic is ridiculous as long as it holds my interest and decided to throw something together.

This starts off in Fifth Year and will continue from there. Almost everything in the fifth book from October on does not happen.

Planned ships right now is some Draco/Harry and then Voldemort/Harry. If anyone has other ships they'd like to see (or other characters, too), let me know.

 **Chapter 1**

If you believed the stories, magical beings' inheritances came on birthdays, like they were linked to the spinning of the planet. Harry had found out, from what little Hogwarts Library had on such things, that that wasn't the case for most. It wasn't the amount of years Harry had been alive that mattered, it was the amount of solstices, or equinoxes, or whatever else he'd lived through. And so, in late September, right after the fall equinox, the changes had started.

At first he hadn't noticed, too distracted by classes and homework, by Umbridge, by the betrayal (once more) of his House and classmates. The changes were gradual enough that he didn't have one moment where he noticed them so drastically that his equilibrium shifted, but little moments, spliced together in his head, leading to his horrifying realization.

That Ron had woken him up one night, staring at him in horror, whispering that he'd been hissing in his sleep again. That he'd mutter under his breath, without thought, and a snake in a portrait or carved into a fixture was the only one to respond. That English, all human languages, had begun to grate on his ears. The increased caution the Magical Creatures were treating him with, even the _House Elves_.

There wasn't much information on Parselmouths in the Library, he'd known that since Second Year. There was no hidden library tucked away in the Chamber of Secrets with what he needed to know-he'd stalked the girl's bathroom in his invisibility cloak for weeks until he had Moaning Myrtle's schedule memorized and slipped down the tunnel with just his cloak, and his wand, and his broom.

What he knew he'd pieced together from stories of Slytherin and his children, from books about other creatures that 'passed' as human, from his own experiences. Because as he poked at the unappetizing meal on his plate for the umpteenth day in a row, looking at the boisterous children around him enjoying their dinners, all he could think was that they looked like _prey_ , and that was not a _human_ sort of thought.

He withdrew, forgetting his anger at Dumbledore and the Ministry, ignoring Umbridge's maneuverings. He'd never participated overly much in the discussions around him, inside or outside of class, so no one noticed it. After all, he had to pause before he spoke, physical force English words out of his mouth, and all it would take was one slip to remind everyone why they'd feared him when he was just a little twelve year old.

It wasn't as if it had all been bad: His reflexes in Quidditch and outside had only increase, he'd had to transfigure plain glass to take the place of the lenses he no longer needed in his glasses, and his magic came far easier, letting him get through the practical portions of Transfiguration and Charms without much care. And, while the increased strength of his sense of smell could be seen as a blessing and a curse in Potions, he was realizing how much the smallest details could help clue him into when he should move onto the next step, or when he'd crushed or juiced something enough.

The other aspects, though, were worrying. And he knew, from the slow build of everything, that this might only be the tip of the iceberg. So when he'd exhausted all sources and it kept getting worse, it was time to start looking for new ones. He might have asked Sirius, who could have books in the Black family library about this sort of thing, or Remus, who might have sources on Dark Creatures that only a werewolf could access, but he was scared-scared of them revealing his questions to someone else...or of them judging him and finding him unworthy of their care, anymore.

Dumbledore, besides the fact he'd been avoiding Harry, was obviously out. And so were any other professors, because the only one who was guaranteed to know _something_ about Dark topics was the one that hated him the most (not that he'd ever give Snape the satisfaction of knowing another secret of his).

His next, reluctant, thought was Hermione. So one day he sat next to her in the Library, after making sure no one else was around, and stared blankly into his History book.

"Well?" she asked, with a huff, after about ten minutes of silence only punctuated by her leafing through pages and scribbling with her quill.

"I need help with some research."

She'd paused in her work, then, looking him over. He didn't know what she saw, but it didn't cause any concerned looks to appear. "For class?" He shook his head and she frowned. "For..." She hadn't needed to specify, eyes darting around them as if waiting for something to jump out.

"Uh, no. I don't-I mean, as far as I know, there isn't anything like _that_." He snorted. "I think Umbridge is enough for this year."

Her lips tensed and she made no effort to tack a 'Professor' onto that name, the way she'd do with Snape. She could forgive Snape for being an awful person because he was technically trying to impart knowledge on them, but Umbridge was just purposefully sabotaging their educations, something Hermione couldn't abide by.

"Listen, Harry, this is our _OWLs_ year. We need to focus on those! They'll decide our entire future, if we don't get enough OWLs, we won't get into enough NEWT level courses, and then we won't get enough NEWTs, and then we'll have very limited choices for our careers," she lectured. "Have you even finished your assignments? I know you're doing well in most of our classes-I'm very proud of how dedicated you've been-but with everything against you, you need to be _great_ this year."

And she was right, he knew she was right, but it was hard to care about things like his future when his present was falling apart.

"You're-you're right." He cleared his throat. Hermione had enough stress in her life and he'd already put her at risk every other year, practically. Maybe this year...maybe this year he'd let her be normal, even if he couldn't. "Are you working on Herbology? What did you put down for..."

He tried to ignore the changes after that, but of course he didn't. Then he tried to figure out how to access books on his own, if he could sneak out to Knockturn Alley somehow on a weekend, or find an excuse for why he _had_ to visit Sirius at Grimmauld Place. By Halloween night, he was getting desperate, and stayed curled up in his bed, ignoring the Feast and festivities.

Ron cautiously left some candy on his bedside, regarding him like someone might an injured animal that they worried needed to be put down. "You...you alright there, mate?"

"Yeah, just...thought I'd take a break from Halloween, for once."

He gave a slow nod. "Can't say I blame you," he finally replied, shuffling to his bed.

November dawned cold and damp, chasing Harry away from wanderings around the Lake and the edge of the forest to wanderings around the castle.

It was only as he sat in an alcove one night, wrapped in his invisibility cloak and staring at a wall, that the answer came. There was no real plan, he always mucked those up anyway, just an invisible hand reaching out and pulling Malfoy into the space with him as the other passed by on his rounds.

He threw off his cloak while Malfoy was still distracted, hiding it behind him.

"Shh," he whispered, a little too much hiss to the sound. "I need to talk to you."

"Talk to me?" Malfoy's voice was blessedly just as soft, he was probably used to these sort of covert dealings with his Housemates or from his dad's Death Eater pals.

"I want to make a deal."

Malfoy's scent changed, the fear he couldn't hide from Harry's senses shifting into what Harry imagined was anticipation, and hesitance. They weren't friends, or even friendly, but Malfoy could be observant when Harry was involved and might have noticed his recent withdrawal from everything around him.

"I need information, your library might have it. In return...you get to know a secret that might help your family out." He didn't have to specify how it would help the Malfoys, at least, and he was glad they didn't have to play a game of Malfoy pretending he didn't know Voldemort was back.

He looked skeptical. "You're going to trade, what, Dumbledore's plans for books?"

Harry shook his head. "No." His face twisted into a scowl. "You'd probably find out that information before I did. I mean..." he trailed off, leaning his head back against the stone behind him as his mind raced. Maybe a _little_ more of a plan would have been helpful. "I need whatever books you have on Parselmouths, or any other information you might know." He pierced Malfoy with a look when he opened his mouth to interrupt. "And we both know who _else_ might be interested in _why_ I need those."

"Why do you need them?" Malfoy's haughty attitude had covered up his surprise, at least in his expression and stance, but he let his curiosity through.

§ _Because I'm starting to understand why Voldemort's temper is so awful_ § he hissed out, looking away. Of course, there was no direct translation between human and snake speech, and Parseltongue was based as much on feeling and magic that Harry couldn't understand as it was on actual words. And to his disgust 'Voldemort' or any version of his name came out as something akin to 'emperor', more than 'king' or 'lord', at least. The best he'd managed to mellow it down was 'elder kin', which was awful in its own way.

"Potter?"

Harry sighed, eyes straying back to Malfoy's. "I don't think it's just a Dark Gift, Malfoy. I think there's a reason _he_ looks like he does, and it's not just because of how he came back." He shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. "This isn't just some ability I inherited from his magic. This is a blood trait. It's..."

Now Malfoy's eyes were wide and knowing. His lips slowly curling into a trademark smirk. "The Gryffindor Golden Boy, a Dark Creature," he whispered, seemingly delighted with the discovery.

Gritting his teeth, Harry nodded. "So, _he'll_ be interested. And _no one else_ knows, yet. Which means you- your father-can drop it on him when you need to and he'll just eat it up."

He didn't want Voldemort to know, necessarily, but he couldn't think of him with the same sort of hatred and fear he had before. Whatever magic made the unwanted translation of Voldemort's names in Parseltongue seemed to also twist around a Parselmouth's view on him. He was the eldest and most powerful living Parselmouth Harry knew of, he couldn't _not_ respect him. And if things kept getting worse, Harry might even _need_ him.

A little more haggling, with Harry reluctantly revealing a little information on his condition, and they had a deal.

The next week, same time and same place, Malfoy casually slipped into the alcove and cast a Silencing charm around them. He had a small bag in his hands, which he offered to Harry, who quickly realized there was an Expansion charm on the inside. A few books he'd seen cited by others in the Library, a few others he'd never heard of, and then...he swallowed hard, fingering the scroll as Malfoy looked on, seemingly fascinated by his every reaction.

Unrolling it, the spidery writing was terribly familiar, though he had to take a moment where his sight seemed to shift and his vision blurred, to realize it was not English he was reading. What looked like 'Harry' was an endearment for a child that had probably clued Voldemort into what was happening more than anything else. What followed was a thorough list of the process that Harry was going through, a sort of Parselmouth puberty that was changing his body, mind, and magic. As Harry approached where he was, and then kept going, his heartrate climbed and breathing quickened.

"If you pass out, I'm just leaving you here."

Malfoy's voice cut through his panic and Harry's eyes snapped away from the scroll. Giving a shaky nod, Harry rolled it back up, knowing he'd probably need a whole weekend of hiding out on his own to process what it was saying.

"You already told him, then."

"I had to tell my Father, of course, to get the books sent to me." For a moment, Malfoy looked awkward, almost bashful. He was fifteen, too, Harry realized, and would probably have liked to have managed to outmaneuver his father if he could have. "He said he skimmed through some of the books and realized it would be better to tell Voldemort sooner than later."

Judging by what Harry had read in the scroll, he could understand that. "Right, uh, thanks for the books."

A hand caught his arm before he could slip away. "The Dark Lord will be wanting updates, Potter. Weekly." Harry opened his mouth to protest. "You'll probably be needing more from him than that scroll."

Suspicions rose in Harry as he thought about just how much information Malfoy might have. He and his father couldn't read the scroll, but Voldemort might have told them other information.

Voldemort had gone through this on his own, a teenager trapped in Hogwarts just like Harry. But he'd been smarter, more powerful, and even more had probably read every single thing about Parselmouths it was possible to get his hands on by the time he was this age. Harry would need him, no matter how much he hated knowing that.

"Fine," he muttered, pushing away Draco's hand and leaving.

Two meetings later, they actually spoke about something other than his horrifying transformation and the Dark Lord's probably glee at it.

" _What_ are you wearing?"

Harry glanced down at the misshapen jumper and torn jeans he had on, shrugging. "It's eleven o'clock at night, Malfoy, I felt like being comfortable."

"And that involves dressing like a Muggle street urchin?"

"Sorry not everyone likes flouncing around in robes all day."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "I'll have you know these are far more comfortable than whatever _that_ material is. They're charmed by expert seamstresses."

Harry was a little intrigued by that, and hesitantly asked what charms other than the obvious anyone would bother putting on clothes. He'd slipped away two hours later with the newest package from Voldemort, distracted by the dizzying amount of information Draco possessed about something as seemingly mundane as wizarding wardrobes.

"Harry, I...was wondering if you still needed help? On that research?"

Hermione pulled out the chair beside him, sinking down into it as if it was hard to stay standing. He stared blankly at her for a moment before realizing what she meant, then shook his head.

"No, uh, you were right. I'm focusing on our classes. No reason to branch out _this_ year."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Did you need help with that?"

He looked at his scroll, considering, then shook his head again. A part of him _wanted_ to say yes, to have Hermione back in his life in even some small way, but that would mean _having her back in his life_ and exposing her to what he was, and Malfoy's probably plots, and Voldemort's interest. On top of that, it was his DADA homework and, well, he was currently doing better in that class than she was. Draco had shared a few tips on how best to write for Umbridge.

"No, I think this is something I've got to do on my own. You know, do all the work by myself so it sticks better, so revision's easier."

"Oh. Yes. That's a good idea, Harry."

She took out her own homework and worked beside him, neither of them talking.

By Christmas break, Hermione and Ron had mostly stopped trying to talk to him. He'd made himself practically invisible, so the enmity of the other students had faded as more personal issues distracted them. Umbridge was fine with his silence in class, if anything she seemed to approve of it, as if thinking he was cowed. Snape still sneered and took points, but barely spoke directly to him. Dumbledore still couldn't even meet Harry's eyes.

The other changes that the scroll listed kept coming. He became more sensitive to the cold (and far more proficient in heating charms because of it), had something like heat vision in darkness, and had a hard time remembering that the others around him were _also_ people. That gave him a new sort of sympathy for Tom Riddle, who had cared less about people than Harry had to begin with. How he could have killed another student, framed Hagrid, fallen into the Darkest of magic, without ever seeming to give a damn...all of it made sense, now.

Harry didn't want to kill people or become some sort of Dark Lord, though. He just wanted to survive the next few years without anyone else finding out what he was, and then maybe have some semblance of a normal life after that.

Christmas morning and none of the Weasleys had stayed behind, nor Hermione, nor anyone else Harry would normally care about. He didn't blame everyone with a place to go for fleeing, the atmosphere around the school was getting oppressive even for Harry, who spent most of his time tucked away in empty classrooms trying to keep some level of human sanity.

He still had all the standard Christmas gifts, and two more, as well. Food and a Weasley sweater, a Quidditch book, a sturdy new set of quills from Hermione who had apparently noticed a few of his had broken (not his fault, that sometimes little acts like that helped snap him back into the present, helped him remember that even if he wasn't human, he could still act like it). He'd gotten her some study materials he'd seen in a catalog Draco had been leafing through a few weeks before and while now it seemed a little too impersonal, he knew she wouldn't think so. Out of everyone, he missed her the most.

The first of the unexpected gifts was in delicate silver and gold wrapping paper, and revealed itself to be a set of casual robes that even he could tell were lovely. The note attached was more polite than Draco ever bothered being in person, but with a nice undertone of his normal attitude as he mentioned Harry not having any respectable casual wear. He should have known after the lecture he'd been given that this was coming. He'd be lucky if he avoided Draco treating him like some dress-up doll.

The second was wrapped in black and green, looking more like a package one might send if people celebrated at funerals than something for Christmas. Inside were carefully packaged vials, marked with numbers. #1 looked almost like water, but they became thicker and yellow as the numbers increased, until #14, which looked almost black in the shadows of the box.

 _Ϩ_ Drink once everyday for two weeks.

No further instructions, no signature. Not that it was necessary, considering it was Parselscript.

Harry set the box on his bed, warding his curtains, before taking the vials out and studying them up close. The idea of Voldemort poisoning him in such a weird and elaborate way seemed unlikely. He always imagined Voldemort wanting to _witness_ his death and wanting to _personally_ cause him any pain. Now, though, he couldn't imagine Voldemort casually killing off the only other Parselmouth-Harry's chest ached unbidden at the idea of ever losing Voldemort's presence in the world, even though they hadn't seen each other for half a year and then Voldemort had almost killed him.

He drank vial #1, it had a sort of bitter taste and made his mouth ache, but he didn't notice anything else. Every morning, he continued drinking a vial before he left his bed, and still didn't notice any changes.

Seventeen days later, Harry woke up with an odd taste in his mouth. He swallowed reflexively, surprised at the amount of liquid there. He slipped his hand down to the pouch he'd taken to keeping between his headboard and his mattress, filled with the books and scrolls Malfoy gave him and a few other odds and ends. The mirror he took out was something he'd started keeping early on, scared some physical change might occur and others would get the chance to spot it.

The top of his mouth looked a little puffy, and his teeth were sore, but he didn't see anything noticeable. He thought back to what he'd been dreaming of, tensing at the memories of Uncle Vernon and a particularly bad punishment, and noticed the strange taste again. This time he spit onto the mirror, the nearest surface he had, but some drops fell to the bedding below and little holes appeared in the material. It was easy to see that whatever had been in his mouth wasn't just saliva.

Harry thought back to the vials, to the taste and texture, and realized with less horror than he knew he should be feeling, that it had been venom. And now that his body knew of it, he was starting to produce it. The memory had scared him, and angered him, and his body had reacted.

The books he had read said that Parselmouths were entirely immune to snake venoms and resistant to most others. To Harry, they implied that even the Basilisk venom probably wouldn't have killed him, though it might have made his still un-transformed body very ill for a very long time. But just because having venom didn't do him harm, didn't mean he wasn't royally pissed off that Voldemort had given him this without asking.

At the next weekly meeting, he passed Draco a note, knowing he would send it to his father who would turn it over to the Dark Lord. It was still written in Parselscript, though, because he didn't trust the Malfoys as far as he could throw Hagrid, at least not when it came to snooping.

The next week he received a letter in reply.

 _Ϩ Harry,_

 _Ϩ Your anger is senseless-within those walls, surrounded by Light wizards loyal to Dumbledore, you need every protection you can obtain. The venoms were a mix, starting with the weakest and watered down ones, and ending in a personal concoction which used Nagini's venom as a base. No general antivenin will work against you, though I have included steps to make a specific one, in case you decide to partake in teenage fumblings and lose yourself in the moment._

 _Ϩ Lord Voldemort_

Harry blushed at that, even though he doubted he'd feel like kissing someone (or doing more) anytime soon.

"Do I even want to know?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised.

That only caused Harry to blush more. "No! It's...disturbing." The Dark Lord considering Harry's sex life was close to traumatizing.

"Here's another book, by the way. Not about _your condition_ , but he thought it might be useful."

Harry took the book, glanced at it, but didn't expect to know what it was, yet. All the covers were charmed now, so Harry could read them in public.

"Any new, uh, changes?"

"He...over Christmas he sent me venom to drink," Harry smirked, watching Draco's disgusted expression, "and, uh, now apparently I'm...deadly."

Draco snorted. "We'll have to come up with an alibi, then."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not planning on killing anyone."

"Not _planning_ on it, but I've seen how you look at the Weasel lately."

"Ron isn't _that_ bad, he's just..." immature, clueless, human.

"Right."

"If anyone should be cautious, it should be _you_. You're the one I spend the most time around alone, now."

That earned a smirk and Harry blamed the letter's contents for why he thought it might be flirtatious. "I'm flattered."

"You're a berk."

"And poor widdle Potter's only real friend."

"I think right now that might be the Dark Lord," Harry muttered, looking down at the book he was still holding.

The silence after that stretched on too long to be comfortable.

Then Draco broke the news that the book was on the Dark Arts. And he'd been ordered to help Harry with them, if he had any questions.

They couldn't get away from each other fast enough, after that.

With basically nothing like a social life and no Quidditch, Harry had taken to actually studying. And with Draco's help with Dark Magic came Harry helping him on DADA, the real stuff, the stuff that would be on the OWLs.

A few sessions in, Draco came with an entourage.

"What is this?" Harry scowled at most of the fifth year Slytherins who had piled into the room after Draco.

Draco gave a graceful shrug. "Just expanding our mutually beneficial arrangement to include a few others."

Parkinson had laughed softly at the two of them, stretching an arm over Draco's shoulders. "Don't worry, Potter, you two will still have plenty of opportunities to snog while no one's watching. We're just here to learn."

A few months of friendship with Draco and the first thing Harry asked was, "What's in it for me?"

Apparently, a lot. They all had their own strengths and most of them had been getting private instruction on topics not allowed in school for years. Together, they came up with a study schedule that would help everyone in some way.

Later, Nott revealed he knew of a room that would better suit their purposes and soon they started meeting there. Not only was it bigger and safer, but his father had assured them that the normal wards of the castle wouldn't sense Dark Magic cast within, as long as they were careful.

OWLs came. OWLs went. Harry's 'study group' were probably some of the only students in the school who were actually prepared for the Defense practical part of the test.

"I think this is the first year at Hogwarts no one has tried to kill me," Harry commented, casually, as Draco walked into the room they now used for all their meetings.

"...I think you might be right. See how much easier life is, when you're on the right side?"

Groaning, Harry fell back onto the desk he was sitting on, staring up at the ceiling. It looked like the night's sky, stars twinkling and moon glowing. He'd wanted something relaxing and the room had provided. "I suppose I can still count my relatives. I bet _they'll_ try, if no one else has."

An envelope hit him in the chest and Draco's smirking face loomed over him. "Doubtful, since you're not going anywhere near them."

"What?!"

"No offense, Harry, but it's not that hard to work out their names and general location from everything you told me this year. The Dark Lord got ahold of them and...let's just say as far as they know, their delinquent nephew will be at home all summer, but keeping himself scarce."

"But," Harry's eyes widened and he sat up, catching the letter as it fell towards his lap, pushing Draco away so their head's didn't knock together, "where will I go?"

"You're coming home with me."

"That doesn't-but I-what?"

Draco rolled his eyes but continued, ignoring Harry's shock. "You'll have a room near mine, of course, and will come with us to the villa in France this summer when we go. My mother has already arranged for a session with our tailor and has set aside time in her schedule to conduct lessons on etiquette. As if I'd let someone in my acquaintance continue to act like some lowborn Muggle," he finished with a sneer.

"Did the Dark Lord order this?" Harry was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that not only did he not have to go to Privet Drive that summer, there was a good chance no one would even find out he hadn't been there, so he wouldn't get in any trouble with Dumbledore or the others.

"Well, he didn't want you returning to living like a House Elf, even a Mudblood doesn't deserve that treatment. But it was Father who offered to let you stay with us."

Nodding slowly, Harry's lips started to form a smile despite his misgivings. He wouldn't want to have spent all summer stuck at Riddle Manor, he was sure. "That's...very kind of your family, Draco." He'd owe them a favor, probably, maybe a lot of them before the summer was out, but it was totally worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes:

Once more, unbeta'd.

This slows down a little and isn't really what I'd originally planned, but given the responses to the first chapter I thought it was more appropriate. I wrote most of this in one go, again, and didn't really read it over much, so I'm hoping it's good.

 **Chapter 2**

During the summer, the changes slowed. Harry spent part of his days lounging on a low stone bench in the Malfoys' larger garden, often reading as it was the most leisurely activity available to him. Draco found it hilarious and often came out to do his own reading nearby.

Harry could always tell when Draco was approaching, the scent of the various sun protection potions he slathered his pale skin in strong even to human senses.

"What book is it today?" Harry turned on the bench, opening his eyes. He kept the thin screen of his second eyelids closed, having adjusted to them over the last few weeks and liking how they blocked out the worst of the light.

"No more babying you," Draco declared, shoving a book into Harry's face.

"Dark Curses for Beginners? Who even writers these things?"

"Just read it, Potter, you're woefully behind."

"Behind who? Hogwart's Junior Death Eaters Association?"

Draco pushed Harry's legs off the bench sitting down next to him. "Yes. You're Dark, Harry, there are certain expectations."

"Being a Dark Creature doesn't mean I have to be a Dark Wizard." He sat up, planting his feet on the ground, as he flipped through the book.

"...Yes, it does. You'll be more comfortable with Dark magic. Also...you're exchanging letters with the Dark Lord, you might as well just accept it now before you start annoying him."

Harry looked up from the book, waving it in the air. "Is this on his orders?"

"No., but my family has learned the hard way that he likes it when people take initiative."

"Oh." He turned his attention back to the book. "I suppose you would know. Still..."

"Shut up and read, Potter."

And, knowing better than to start a fight with Draco when he was stuck with him in his own house, Harry shut up and read.

June bled into July, Harry read what Draco gave him to, knowing it was the best way Draco had to protect him, but at some point he realized he hadn't heard from Voldemort in weeks. He debated stopping, but whenever Narcissa saw him with one of the books, she just looked so approving. It was a new sort of experience for Harry, one he was loathe to lose.

"Our family tailor will be here at ten," she announced at breakfast one day. Draco's head turned quickly towards her, but Lucius didn't even look up from the Daily Prophet.

Harry frowned. "...Haven't you gotten me enough clothing, Lady Malfoy? If the wardrobe in my room didn't have an expansion charm on it, I'd have only fit half my new things in it."

She leveled him with a knowing look. "You're not getting out of this, Harry. You need dress robes."

"I have dress robes. I now have multiple dress robes." He narrowed his eyes at Draco, not liking the knowing look on the other boy's face.

"These must be special. You can't just wear any dress robes to your birthday party."

His fork clattered against his plate, Lucius glanced at him disapprovingly as Draco obviously stifled a laugh with a delicate cough.

"I...I'm not having a birthday party."

Narcissa gave a smile, deceptively soft. "Yes, you are. I already sent the invitations out. Don't worry, I consulted Draco."

"Lady Malfoy, I really don't-."

"Don't bother, Potter. Trying to stop her from having a party is an accomplishment not even the Dark Lord could manage," Lucius finally put in, smirk in place. "Just wait until your wedding."

"Wedding?!" Harry stared in horror, eyes shooting from one Malfoy to the next, catching on Draco's flushed cheeks. He sucked in a sharp breath, blushing along with him. "No, we're, uh, that is to say-."

"There's no shame in falling for a Malfoy, Harry." Narcissa patted his cheek, a pronounced smile on her face, the Narcissa equivalent of beaming. "I certainly understand the appeal."

"I...better go prepare for the tailor." Harry pulled away from her touch, stood up quickly, and hurried out of the room. He didn't need to be witness to the flirting of the adult Malfoys. It was too disturbing to even consider.

Draco found him after the tailor had left, in the garden speaking to a few of the snakes who had been making their way onto the grounds.

"I think there's more of them, now," he commented, frowning.

"There are. Apparently I've got some sort of draw."

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, only the hissing conversation of the snakes around them for entertainment. They were trying to convince Harry to let them inside with him, to the warm, giant den he occupied.

"I'm sorry about my mother. She shouldn't have said such a thing, it was inappropriate."

"It's fine, Draco. I know she didn't mean anything bad by it."

"So you don't think marrying me would be a bad thing? Maybe...it could be a good thing?"

Harry blushed, turning in protest, realizing that at some point Draco had moved up right behind him. "I didn't say that."

"You fit well here. I didn't know what it would be like, having some Muggle-raised Halfblood Gryffindor running around, but you're adaptable. You want to adapt, on top of that. I don't know if it's because your thought processes are changed or your position in the war has changed...but..." Draco trailed off, cocked his head to the side. As if in slow motion, Harry saw one of Draco's hands reach out, cupping his cheek. "We'd be good together."

Draco wasn't looking for love, Harry knew, he'd made that clear enough during one of his culture lectures at the beginning of summer-everything was about appearances and alliances. But that in itself was flattering, that Harry now appeared proper enough to be a spouse to the Malfoy scion.

It didn't mean he was going to stand there like an idiot as Draco's lips descended towards him. He pushed him away, shaking his head. "No. Just...Draco, I'm not going to be your 'in' with the Dark Lord or whatever the hell you think this is. We only just became friends this year. Be happy with that."

He scooped up three of the snakes, fleeing to his bedroom. Their excitement at being in the strange new place was a welcome distraction from his whirling thoughts.

Over the course of the summer, Harry had written to only two people: Hermione and Sirius. A few weeks into break, he'd received desperate letters from almost everyone, along with not a few automatically-triggered portkeys and tracking charms that Malfoy Manor's ancient wards had made quick work of. Apparently, Dumbledore's minions who were staking out the Dursleys had finally realized that Harry wasn't being a shut-in, he actually wasn't there. After some consideration, Harry had told the people he cared about where he was.

Ron's first letter (and the only one Harry had bothered reading) was a scathing list of reasons why the Malfoy's were evil and Harry was a complete idiot. Many of the others had been similar. Hermione's had been circumspect-she'd obviously rewritten it until it was perfectly neutral and only showed her concern about him in general. Sirius' had been the biggest surprise. When even Remus had requested that Harry leave the Manor and Dumbledore had attempted a compulsion charm, Sirius had simply stated that he understood the need to escape certain responsibilities and that as long as Harry continued writing once a week, and wanted to stay, that he didn't see any harm in it.

Of course, Narcissa had amusingly told him about the letter she'd received. Harry had been scared that Sirius might have offended her, until she revealed their relationship as cousins and a few choice stories of the mischief Sirius had gotten up to in their youth. There was honest affection in her voice and a smile in her eyes for the rest of the day. Surprising to Harry when he got to read exactly what was in the letter, because it even had him a little scared for Narcissa's safety if anything happened to him.

Sirius revealed that that in itself was a bit of a Black Family tradition. He'd found out years after running away from home that his own father had written a similar one to Harry's grandmother when James' parents had taken him in. Dorea Black had laughed that off, supposedly, making Harry imagine her as a dark haired version of Narcissa whenever she came up.

Harry was so relieved about Sirius' acceptance and continued correspondence that he confided in him. Sirius was from a Dark family and he'd never had any issue with Harry being a Parselmouth when it had come up, something Harry found was still true even as it drew Harry deeper into Dark Magic. All he was given was some warnings about ways to practice and how to avoid being overtaken by the Dark Spells he might use.

And, as a sidenote, Sirius had included, _And if you start acting irrationally, maybe see a Mind Healer. The Black Madness is hereditary and worse the more Dark Magic someone with it uses._

Finding out that he might end up as barmy as some people already believed he was hadn't been pleasant, but he appreciated the warning. And that Sirius was always willing to give him extra information, the sort that Dumbledore and the Light liked to keep from him.

His growing relationship with Sirius was why he had asked Narcissa to invite him to the party. He knew the sort of people that would probably be there, but also knew Sirius' desperation to be a part of Harry's life would make him play nice.

"How Slytherin," Narcissa praised, pecking him on the cheek. "And correct. Sirius loved your father dearly and the few times I saw him out and about with you as a child, I think people could have mistaken you for his own, the way he doted."

"He took me out as a kid?"

"Oh, yes, it was quite adorable. He'd push your pram about, doting on you like a new mother. He had much more free time than either of your parents, it was only natural for him, as godfather, to watch you. With Uncle Alphard's money, he didn't need to work, and with the family reputation and the war going on, there weren't many who would hire him." She looked down, a slight frown marring her features. "He had threatened, once or twice, that he would become an Auror, but I believe the idea of being obligated to maim or kill one of the family put him off such a course."

"But he was a member of the Order."

"Yes, under Dumbledore. It was simple for any Order member to say they had no desire to kill, or use truly harmful spells, and get away with it. And I know the family returned the favor, even Bellatrix. We all had the foolish hope that someday he'd see the truth and return."

She looked up again, her hand stroking through Harry's hair, a tender expression he'd only ever seen parents given their own children on her face. His heart clenched, then seemed to pound harder, the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears.

"And maybe he has, after all these years," she whispered, drawing Harry against her chest.

He'd realized later, staring at the ceiling in his bedroom (unsure when he'd started thinking of the room as 'his' to begin with), over a dozen snakes resting on various parts of his bed and body, why she'd acted like that. Despite everything, she'd still loved Sirius as family was supposed to, and Harry was the reason she'd get him back. Regulus was dead, Bellatrix had succumbed to the family madness, and Andromeda's name was practically a taboo. Sirius was all she could really have, anymore.

He wondered what that would feel like. To have grown up with family he could have actually loved.

The party was amazing. He'd never had a birthday party before, of course, but even if he had, he thought this would have been the best. Narcissa had gotten a live band playing music Harry actually liked and the food was all delicious and non-threatening, not like some of the weird things he'd had to eat since coming to the Manor.

He had grabbed a plateful after suffering through the early greetings and retreated to a sitting area in the corner where he'd open his presents later (a gigantic pile the likes of which Dudley had never received). Draco was off with Pansy and Blaise, Lucius and Narcissa were entertaining some bigwigs from the continent, and Harry was stuffing his face with the most delicious tarts he'd ever consumed.

"Harry!" The couch cushion sank under new weight as arms wrapped tightly around him. He choked on a piece of food before managing to swallow it, grinning despite the near-brush with suffocation.

"Sirius! You made it!" Plate discarded on the floor, he wrapped his arms around Sirius in turn.

He didn't know how long it was before they finally broke apart. "Look at you, all dressed up! And it looks like you even managed to tame that hair, finally! James would be jealous."

Harry self-consciously smoothed a hand over his head. "It was Draco, actually. He's been experimenting on it with spells and potions all summer, finally found a combination he likes." There were still some signs of the curls and cowlicks, but they looked like they were there on purpose.

"What about you? I don't think I've ever seen you so neat and clean," he shot back.

Sirius shrugged, leaning into the couch and crossing a leg, revealing a sleek dragon hide boot under his fashionable dark red robe. "Narcissa said if I didn't dress properly, I'd be kept out in the stables and only get to see you after the party. I figured it was a small sacrifice to make."

Harry made a show of gasping. "You dressed up for me? I'm so honored."

"Keep it up, kid, I can still take my present back."

"You wouldn't dare. You love giving me presents. Spending all that Black money on a half-blood," he teased.

Sirius laughed, the sound brighter than any Harry had heard before, and he realized that it wasn't just Sirius' clothes that had improved. He looked healthier, younger, some of the wear and tear Azkaban had put him under starting to fade away. Harry chuckled back, leaning into Sirius' side as they watched the room around them, not missing the curious looks.

"I can't believe you're not even under a glamour. Why isn't anyone freaking out that mass-murderer Sirius Black is here?"

That earned a snort. "You do realize where we are and who we're surrounded by, right? Death Eaters and sympathizers, the lot of them. The only group that would have known from the start that I wasn't guilty. That's why I came so late, I wasn't just being fashionable, Cissy let me know all the others would be cleared out by now."

Harry frowned, studying the crowd. There were lots of people he didn't know, but he'd talked that over with the Malfoys and realized it was a good idea to invite people for purely political reasons, even if he had no idea who they were. Going to the Boy Who Lived's party was something to brag about and he could use some goodwill. There had been some more neutral people around, and Ministry officials (the Minister himself, and Harry's face had hurt keeping up a fake polite smile when forced to talk to him), but he couldn't see a single one remaining.

"You don't mind, do you? I know you...you didn't want anything to do with the Dark."

Sirius pulled him closer, pressing his cheek against the top of Harry's head. He'd done this before, when they'd met in person, touched Harry as much as he could, as if having to continually prove to himself that Harry was real. It made Harry wonder just what the Dementors had made him see.

"I would put up with Voldemort himself if it meant seeing you, Harry."

That was very good to know.

"Maybe you could just put up with the Malfoys more often? Maybe I could get them to let you stay here?" Harry blurted out, blushing when he realized how eager and young he'd sounded.

"...I might. I've got to meet this Draco kid you've got the hots for, anyway. Make sure he's good for you."

"Sirius!"

Eventually he did get introduced to Draco, but it was after a few threats from Harry. Sirius still tended to glare and loom, but Draco took it all in stride. His father was a Death Eater, after all, and Draco knew Sirius wasn't a cold blooded killer (or, at least, knew he hadn't massacred those Muggles or betrayed the Potters, Harry had never gotten around to telling anyone about the attempted murder of Snape).

It wasn't until mid-August that Harry actually saw Voldemort in person. He and the Malfoys had gone to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies, choosing a weekday so it would be less crowded. They met up with the study group outside of Eeylops and he and Draco were allowed to go off to get the rest of their supplies without any adults.

They just stepped out of the apothecary, when Harry's increased agility was the only thing that stopped him from being hit dead-on by a stunner.

"It's an attack!" Pansy gasped, throwing off the counter to a hex barreling towards them, stopping it in an explosion of sparks. "Quick, get back inside."

They all turned as a group to do just that, then stopped. A figure in a robe, hood drawn up and some sort of spell obscuring their face, was running through the shop towards them. That wouldn't be any safer than outside.

Blaise grabbed hold of Theo's arm and pulled him towards the alleyway beside the shop, everyone following. "Come on, this way. We need to get away from these attacks long enough to make a run for it."

Everyone had their wands out, but none of them had ever been in a fight like this. Even the kids that had personal dueling instructors and Harry himself, who'd fought before, weren't ready for the barrage of spells sent their way. They were barely managing to defend and it didn't look like they'd be able to strike back anytime soon.

"Why are they attacking us? They can't be-" Harry stopped from saying it outloud, knew they'd all hear it, anyway. Death Eaters wouldn't attack them, wouldn't risk harming the others even if for some reason Voldemort decided to have Harry hurt.

"It could be the Ministry, trying to cover their tracks," Theo suggested, voice strained. One of his sleeves was ripped, Harry noticed, blood dripping slowly to the stone at his feet.

He looked around wildly, realizing he and Draco were the only ones not hurt, yet. "We need to split up. If they're after me, then the rest of you can go for help."

If they'd been his old friends, if they'd been Gryffindors, Harry knew there'd be protests. But these were Slytherins, they knew when they were outmatched and fighting wasn't the best option.

"I'll stick with you," Draco insisted. "My parents would have noticed the commotion by now, they'd be making their way here. And you'll need me to watch your back, I'm the best dueler here."

At the very least, Harry thought the adult Malfoys would see how all the other wizards-including plenty of adults-were fleeing the scene to protect themselves. Right. I'll cause a distraction, then we run to the right, the rest of you to the left."

The spell wasn't from any of the Dark Arts books he'd read, it was something Fred and George had taught him. The explosion only worked on inanimate objects and, more importantly, created a ton of distracting sparks, like setting off fireworks. It gave them enough time to break away from the group and start down the street.

"Gringotts or Knockturn," Draco gasped the two safest options as they ran.

They were racing up the steps of Gringotts soon enough, Harry in the lead because of his increased stamina. The large doors were closed, but he figured they had enough gold between them that Gringotts considered them important customers.

"Watch our backs!" He used a spell to knock on the door, heard the creak as it began to open. They were thin enough they wouldn't need much of a space to slip through.

He turned to shout the news, just in time to see a spell slice into Draco's chest, blood flying. "No!" Ignoring the door, he ran to him, taking the steps two at a time, casting wild Stupefies into the attacking force.

Another spell came towards them, Harry instinctively knew it was meant to finish Draco off. He flung himself down, into its path, screaming in pain as it blazed over his skin. He heard the crack of Apparition, saw the sudden arrival of the Aurors, in the distance he heard Lucius bellowing out spells.

He focused again when the pain increased. His cries were shushed by a shaking voice, begging him to just hold on. Then everything went black.

The next time he opened his eyes, he wasn't at St. Mungos. He was lying on a hard, slick surface, hands pulling at him. It hurt, Merlin did it hurt, and he writhed under the touch, attempting to dislodge it.

§ _Even if you were strong enough, you would only make things worse._ §

Harry's entire body jerked at the words. He forced his eyes open, finding even that exhausting. § _What's happening? What are you doing?_ §

His thoughts raced. Had Voldemort sent those attackers after all? Was this part of some twisted plan?

§ _I'm helping you heal, foolish hatchling. You can help me or not, but I will not let you stop me._ §

He felt a tug, heard a harsh tearing noise, and looked down. Then he gagged as he gaped at the piece of skin Voldemort was holding, bigger than his head, part of it still attached to Harry's stomach.

§ _No, stop!_ § He rocked back and forth, trying to squirm away, limbs too weak to even think of crawling.

Voldemort gave a loud hiss of displeasure and suddenly his body was pressed against Harry's, their faces close together. § _You are healing. Your body knows what to do, even if you are too ignorant to realize it. But you are too weak to finish the process by yourself._ §

And...that was true. Harry cautiously looked at his skin again, the horrible burns and cuts covering it, the outward sign of the immense pain he was still in. And the areas where it was peeling away from the rest of him, revealing pale skin underneath, instead of the red flesh or muscle that it should.

Taking his confusion as complacence, Voldemort went back to peeling Harry's shedding skin away from him. As each new piece was torn off, unblemished flesh was revealed. It was paler than Harry had been before, but he thought with a little sunlight it would look normal. Even if there were a few patches he swore he could see the pearly reflection of white scales. And as more and more of his skin started to loosen, as if realizing the process was working, the pain faded into a dull ache.

He had no way of telling time, but he thought it must have been hours before Voldemort finally picked him up and lowered him into a warm pool of water. Voldemort climbed in with him, gently cleaning Harry off. His new skin was sensitive that every sensation, from the rippling of the water to the delicate caresses of Voldemort's long fingers, was almost too much to take.

The entire experience was surreal.

§ _What happened?_ § he finally ventured, as Voldemort's hands slowed to a stop, task finished.

§ _You were attacked, I believe it was the Order?_ §

§ _The Order? That doesn't make sense. We thought it was the Ministry, in disguise._ §

Voldemort made a soft, amused noise. § _No, you're on Fudge's good side, at the moment. But Dumbledore thinks he's lost his grip on you. I imagine he was going to have you kidnapped by 'Death Eaters' and then rescued by his forces._ §

Harry closed his eyes, working through that. Voldemort's voice was so comforting, his touch even more so. He had wondered what it would be like, to finally see Voldemort in person after going through his maturity, and now he wished it hadn't taken so long. He could have spent an entire summer in his presence, relaxed in a way he'd never experienced before.

Something shifted in the water, moving towards them. § _Such a tired little hatchling,_ § a snake hissed, the voice vaguely familiar to Harry. § You should be resting, not talking. §

§ Nagini, I thought you were waiting in the bedroom? §

§ Waiting there, being here, is there a difference? §

The next noise Voldemort made was very human, something between a frustrated groan and laughter, and Harry looked up at him. § It's fine, she can stay. §

§ _Ah, but she reminded me why we shouldn't dawdle. After all, your dear new surrogate family awaits us._ §

The reminder that other people existed had Harry trying to sit up. With Voldemort's help, he did, but he had to be all but carried onto the solid flood. A quick spell dried them, another had Voldemort fully dressed. Instead of perform that on Harry, too, a gauzy robe was wrapped around him. When it brushed his skin, he was thankful it wasn't anything more, a few places still so sensitive the touch of cloth made him wince as they walked.

"Lucius, Narcissa, Draco," Voldemort greeted as he stepped through into a small sitting room. Harry had to look away, realizing there was something awful about hearing Voldemort speak English after finally being around another Parselmouth.

The Malfoys greeted Voldemort in turn. Draco shifting on his feet until Voldemort released them to look over Harry.

Harry flinched as Draco hugged him and Narcissa stroked his shoulder, but managed to hide the discomfort from them. He was biting down on the inside of his lip so he didn't let the whimpers building in his throat escape, when Voldemort finally intervened.

"That's enough."

The Malfoys retreated from him and Voldemort gestured for him to sit on the couch. Harry looked them over, seeing surprise even on Lucius' face. He had looked pretty bad, before, and figured no one had expected him to recover so quickly.

"Draco and the others have informed us of the details." Everyone's eyes went back to Voldemort. "I do not have reason to believe you will be in increased danger at Hogwarts, despite Dumbledore's maneuverings, therefore I will be allowing you to return. However-"

"Allowing me?" Harry gave him an incredulous look. "You don't have any say in the matter."

"Harry," Draco began, but a look from everyone else silenced him.

"I get that you're the Dark Lord and I'm a-a Dark Creature. That you're my-" he struggled for the word, hissing the loaded 'word' § _elder_ § before continuing in English, "but I'm not one of your servants."

"You are a child, Harry Potter and the only other remaining Parselmouth that I know of. You are, therefore, under my protection." There was something else, some weight behind Voldemort's words that Harry couldn't guess at. "I will allow your outbursts because this is very new for the both of us, but I expect you to adjust quickly."

Harry sucked in a breath, turning his head away so he could glare blindly at the bookshelf instead of risk glaring at the Dark Lord. "You're letting me return to Hogwarts."

"...Yes."

"And it will be a normal year?"

"Normal for the average student, yes." Voldemort didn't bother to hide his amusement, as if he knew of every odd adventure Harry had already experienced at Hogwarts. He probably did.

"Fine. That's all I need to know." He looked over at Lucius. "Are you here to take me ho-back to the Manor?"

Every single person in the room-probably even Nagini, somehow-noticed his slip. But as Harry descended into embarrassment, everyone else, even Lucius and Voldemort, seemed pleased.

Harry sank deeper into the couch as Voldemort let him know the other conditions: that he'd not leave the Manor except for the Portkey to the station, that he'd keep in regular contact with the Dark Lord, that he'd have an emergency portkey on him at all times. Just wanting to get out of there, Harry agreed to all of it, relieved when the Malfoys crowded around him and portkeyed home. Once they'd arrived, the very real excuse of needing rest let him slip away from all of them.

That night he stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, hands wandering over his brand new skin. He'd been hit by a powerful burning curse, apparently. If he'd been a human, it would have taken St. Mungos weeks to heal him enough to release him, maybe years of potions before his skin looked half as flawless. The shedding hadn't just gotten rid of the burnt flesh, either, but every scar he had barring the one on his forehead. That seemed even newer, the shiny pink almost mocking him as he saw hints of it through his fringe.

He wanted to be a real Parselmouth, he admitted, only to himself. He didn't want everything to be because of the scar, because of his weird connection to Voldemort. And he didn't think that was too much to ask of the universe.

The rest of the summer was spent in the Manor. It was still worlds better than being back at the Dursleys and Draco's friends (who Harry at this point could admit were his, as well) were allowed to visit. Sirius stopped by a few times, too, and sometimes Narcissa joined them for tea.

Harry was less isolated than he'd been at the beginning of the break, but somehow the fact it was forced on him made him restless. He spent more time with Draco, actively distracting himself with study sessions and Quidditch practice. Any whim he seemed to have, Draco would try to accommodate. If Harry had been in his right state of mind, he would have questioned it.

And through it all, Harry's dreams were plagued with fire burning away his flesh...and the cool, dry slide of Voldemort's hands against him, Parseltongue words he'd never said echoing around them.

XXXXX

I kept Dorea Potter nee Black as Harry's grandmother because I always liked that better than some random new people as James' parents.

I hope this was slow enough for people. And good enough. There was only really two or three new Parselmouth concepts in this chapter, but that will probably be the norm until I'm out of ideas for them.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: It's really annoying to post on here with the way I write this up, so I expect this will always get updates later. Anyway, here's an update!

 **Chapter 3**

Returning to Hogwarts, for once, wasn't something Harry was looking forward to. Summer at Malfoy Manor, despite everything, had the feel of a good dream he didn't want to wake up from. Hogwarts meant avoiding Dumbledore's machinations and desperately hiding his true self from people he spent most of the day with.

At least he no longer had to go out of his way to hide his friendships. A fact Harry exercised in full to shock people on the Platform and in the Express on the way back. The Slytherins, of course, thought it was hilarious and played along.

They had to separate for the feast and Harry settled down between Hermione (who seemed to be avoiding any confrontation by keeping her nose in a book) and Neville. The rest of the Gryffindors were torn between glaring at Harry and pretending he didn't exist, and Harry wondered if it was his new outlook or simply a buildup of tolerance that made him not care.

But the whole House _was_ united in outrage when they found out Snape would be the new Defense teacher.

"Are you...are you okay?"

Harry raised his head from his folded arms, realizing with an internal grown he'd forgotten to close his eyes again. It was becoming instinct to just cover them with something, even in the dimly lit back corners of the library.

"Uh, yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Hermione frowned, moved just a bit closer to his table, keeping her voice low. "I just...I know we've been growing apart, but I still think of you as a friend, Harry. I still care about you. And if you...if you ever need my help with something, I want you to know I'll give it."

She left before he could answer, leaving him staring after her.

Harry's favorite and least favorite classes had flipped and he actually found himself grateful for it. Though he'd gotten an O on his Potions OWL (largely thanks to Draco), he still didn't feel very comfortable with the subject. And as for DADA, well, he was already ahead of the rest of the class, having actually learned something the year before, and while he didn't like that his grade would be lower, at least it meant that he wouldn't have to deal with Snape again the next year.

Voldemort had, upon hearing the news, admitted to being the one to set the curse on the position.

Along with the suspicious change in staffing (what were Snape and Dumbledore up to, Harry wondered, and how could Harry himself avoid getting caught up in it?), suddenly Dumbledore seemed to want Harry's attention. Harry didn't even pretend to care, ignoring any summons he received from the Headmaster.

"He's going to force you to talk to him eventually, you know."

Harry wrinkled his nose, flipping over on the rug before the Slytherin common room's fireplace and glaring at Draco. "If I can put it off a few more months, I will."

The others didn't seem so convinced he could. And they were, regretfully, right.

McGonagall cornered him, eventually, marching him up to the Headmaster's Office as she tutted at him for his insubordination. They'd gone by a few Slytherins on their way and Harry had given them a pointed look if McGonagall wasn't watching, knowing they'd let his friends know where he was.

"Harry, my boy, it is good to finally see you."

Harry shifted in the doorway before reluctantly striding deeper into Dumbledore's office, taking a seat across from the desk.

"Lemon drop?" The slightest of pause for Harry to shake his head. "Now, I know last year may have been...difficult for you, and that I was not as approachable as I wished to be, but I thought we could mend our relationship."

After the meeting with Dumbledore, Harry felt...off-center. He knew the old man hadn't gotten the chance to mess with his mind magically, but the information he'd started to reveal was intense. And probably not anything Voldemort wanted anyone, even Harry, to know.

It took him days to figure out what to say, putting off all of his friends questions as he wrote and rewrote the letter in his head, before putting it to parchment and sending it off.

He felt Voldemort's rage through the connection a few hours later and knew he was reading it.

Instructions were passed to him through a Slytherin 7th year. It was more circumspect than Harry was expecting, considering the violent reaction to the news, especially the end.

Ϩ _...Continue attending these meetings. Learn everything that he knows. I will watch the details in your memories next we meet._ Ϩ

Frowning, Harry remembered a time he'd be upset if someone casually mentioned going through his head without first getting his permission. Coming from Voldemort, though, it just seemed natural.

In late October, a letter arrived from Sirius, from a Malfoy eagle owl that Harry had begun to recognize. He ignored the curious looks at the table, abandoning the food he hadn't been planning on eating, and left. At least it gave him an excuse, sitting around poking at food his changed metabolism didn't yet require him to eat was one of the more boring parts of the day.

"Well?" Pansy pushed onto the windowsill that Harry sat in, pointing at the letter.

"Sirius has been granted a trial-a _real_ trial. Mr. Malfoy has...the utmost confidence that it will go in Sirius' favor. There's going to be veritaserum, all questions will be limited to the timeframe around the attack...I…" he smiled, "I think Sirius is going to be free."

All around him, smiles and supportive nods greeted the news. Sirius hadn't been a Death Eater, but he was still a Pureblooded Black and with his allegiance to Harry, that made him favorable to the Slytherins now.

It was the best Halloween Harry had ever had, knowing that soon his godfather would be free.

Sirius was declared innocent, as everyone knew he would be (even if Harry had been nervous the whole trial). He'd had the full weight of the Pureblood institution behind him, Death Eaters working behind the scenes, and the Malfoys leaning on their own personal contacts. Plus the Minister, who Harry had met personally, to tell of how Sirius had protected him from Peter Pettigrew in 3rd year.

Freedom, however, did not mean everything immediately adjusted to how it would have been if Sirius hadn't been in Azkaban-he had a whole year of Mind-healing to attend before he'd be allowed custody of Harry and apparently most of the Black properties needed major repairs, so he'd be staying with the Malfoys on top of that.

Still, they were allowed to see each other if another adult was supervising and Narcissa was more than willing to be dragged to Hogsmeade on the weekends to have lunch with Harry and an extra-excitable Sirius.

Who also seemed to be trying to make up for years of Azkaban rations by eating everything he could get his hands on, much to their amusement. And which worked out perfectly for Harry, as his appetite became smaller and smaller he was learning how best to look as if he was still eating normal portions, and passing things off to Sirius was working even under Narcissa's watchful gaze.

According to the records, Harry was spending Winter Break with the Malfoys. In truth, he was with Voldemort. There was no other way to gain first-hand instruction on being a Parselmouth and Voldemort was surprisingly patient with Harry.

There were, however, no holiday celebrations. Voldemort scoffed just as much at the traditional Wizarding religions as he did at Muggle-influenced ones-religion was a human necessity, a pretty lie to make them feel better about their lives. Not something their kind needed, not unless they were the ones being worshipped.

Instead, they travelled. Voldemort was strong enough for side-along international apparition and took Harry to forests and ruins, to Wizarding cities Hogwarts had never once mentioned. It was just a few days, but more travel than Harry had ever done in his entire life.

After the second location, with Voldemort narrating the history of the people whose ruined city they stood in, Harry realized that these all _were_ places they would have been worshipped. Where they would have been kings, emperors, maybe even gods. It was humbling to think about it, but also...well, he couldn't help but feel it was _right_ , too. He didn't know if that was Voldemort rubbing off on him or part of his transformation, but _of course_ humans would see them as superior, because they _were_.

When he voiced that, Voldemort ran a hand through Harry's hair, claws tracing delicately over his scalp. § _Many of these civilizations fell because they abandoned the old ways. They abandoned us and the other beings like us. We protected our followers, as all good lords must, but once forsaken our numbers diminished, vanished entirely in some of these regions._ §

When they returned, Harry was given books on everything he'd seen, which he read through without protest. The ones for humans often painted a very different story than the Parselscript ones that remained of some of the cultures and Harry wondered which one told the actual truth.

Harry had yet to talk to anyone about the more...disturbing changes that Voldemort had hinted at. He knew when they came, he'd be too far gone to care, but he worried about what people around him would think.

Now that his time alone with Voldemort was coming to an end, he drew on what Gryffindor courage he had left and asked.

§ _You will become an expert on glamour charms_ § Voldemort smirked at him, his sharp teeth stained pink from the meal they were having. § _But once you are out of Hogwarts, you can become more lax. Most of the changes will be hidden under your clothing._ §

§ _What about,_ § Harry hesitated. § _What about...lovers?_ §

The look Voldemort gave him was familiar by this point, a sort of 'you're so young and naive' expression that annoyed the hell out of Harry even while he knew he'd probably earned it.

§ _Lovers will become...less appealing. The thought of a human's skin against yours, their hands on you, their..._ § Voldemort allowed himself to trail off, because Harry had already given a small shudder, his expression growing more and more disgusted. § _You do not_ _ **have**_ _to take a lover, little one. That is a human convention. If you do not wish to procreate, there is no need to indulge in such things._ §

Harry frowned, looking down, wondering what that might mean if he continued some sort of relationship with Draco. Draco who most likely expected sex to play some part of it, given his obvious attraction to Harry. But that was to the human act Harry put on, the still-mostly-human body that Harry wore.

§ _But to...procreate-_ § if Harry was still capable of blushing, he would have been bright red, § _isn't that something I should do? There's only two of us left._ §

Something dark lurked behind Voldemort's eyes as his attention turned back to Harry. § _You are still very young, you have years yet before you need to consider such things._ §

§ _With the way my life is? I might not make it 'years,'_ § Harry muttered.

Voldemort's hand slammed down on the table, causing Harry to jump. § _Do you think so little of my protection?_ § He stood, looming over Harry. His magic had been layered thick around the room, a comforting weight, but now it whipped at Harry's own, anger at the insult clear.

Harry cringed back, instincts screaming at him as he realized his mistake. § _Elder, no! I...I was thinking as a human might. I apologize. I know you would not allow permanent harm to befall me._ §

Red eyes stayed narrowed, his nostrils flaring, tongue flicking out. But, as Voldemort settled into what must be deep thoughts, he calmed. § _Yes, perhaps I expect too much of you, given your environment. This summer, you will stay with me._ §

His magic calmed, but did not return to the laze it had been in, instead it gripped Harry, holding him like a constrictor.

Harry didn't dare question it. He was glad that was all the 'punishment' he would face.

After the break, Harry made a concentrated effort to speak to Hermione more. He remembered what an asset she had been, and couldn't help but have some nostalgia for their old friendship. He wasn't sure he could be that close to any human, anymore, but it was nice to remember it.

But more exposure to him and his changes meant she was catching on and it made him nervous.

"Your skin is looking dull," she commented, seemingly out of nowhere, during a study session with just the two of them-Gryffindor free while Slytherin was at one of their classes.

Harry glanced down at his hands, frowning. They _did_ look a little...ashy. And he'd been feeling weirdly...confined, recently. Like his skin was getting too tight for him.

"You're probably going to molt soon."

Harry's head whipped up. "What?"

Hermione gave a wry smile. "That's what snakes do, right? Start looking dull and then molt? There's not really any books in here on Parselmouths, so I looked at some of the herpetology ones."

"Hermione…."

She took a deep breath before reaching across the table and placing a hand over his-it had been awhile since he'd actually looked at the differences between his hands and human ones and he couldn't help but notice how his nails were starting to get just a little more claw-like. She seemed to, too, frowning down at them.

"We should start painting our nails. I bet we can convince Zabini to do it, too. Start a fad."

"'Mione…." Something in Harry's voice broke, an emotion he couldn't identify anymore sneaking through.

"I don't _care_ what you are, Harry. You're still you."

He turned his hand over and squeezed hers, wishing he wasn't going to prove her wrong in the future.


End file.
